


Boxer and Socks with Suspender

by KuroSaburo



Category: Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroSaburo/pseuds/KuroSaburo
Summary: A Genderbent retelling of the misadventures of Panty, Stocking, and Garterbelt.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a fanfiction I started years ago and never finished; looking back on it, there's so much I could have improved, and now I think I'm ready to do so.

Boxer and Socks with Suspender

1

Socks Anarchy was a handsome young man, slender, pale, and effeminate in manner. Presently, he stood in the kitchen, prepping mixtures of chocolate and vanilla pudding in dessert glasses to chill overnight. Recently, Socks styled his hair in a bowl-cut once a simple pastime became a dedicated hobby that he blogged on occasion. Further, somewhat annoyingly, he rid his nails of their fetching polish for sanitation. Ultimately, it didn't matter, as Socks had pudding to look forward to in the morning! Afterward, Socks scaled the stairs to his room to begin his nightly routine—with a half-hearted workout and a face mask; while scrutinizing himself in the vanity, Socks heard a commotion downstairs.  
Socks and his brother, Boxer, occupied a church on a hill overlooking Daten city. Rarely are sermons given at the altar built adjacent to their living quarters, and Boxer wasn't keen on attending or holding any religious services, ironically enough. The thumping of his drunken ascent and subsequent "plowing" only affirms this. Boxer was far from sowing the seeds of good grace, however—far away from the place of heavenly origin.  
Socks could only supplement the accursed thumping with continual forehead-to-counter contact.  
Boxer grins a lopsided, smarmy grin, whispering honeyed words around a condom packet in his teeth while leering at his latest acquisition in love-making. Love-making? Fucking, we mean fucking. It was a late-night screwing with some bimbo he nicked off the street, and he was going to savor this shameful lay in a house of worship—milking it for all it's worth, no matter who he kept up well into the night.

The following morning was hell on Earth for both brothers as Boxer rose with a loud yawn, morning wood, and watery eyes from a splitting headache. He paused as he felt a weight around him and glanced over at his bedmate. Strange, she didn't look nearly as appealing as she did the night before. Whatever. Boxer was used to makeup smears and drooling mouths—something he had to clean off in the shower. The latter, mind; ain't no way he's going to be wearing sissy makeup like his sissy younger brother! What was Socks thinking, anyway? Ever since the two of them were thrown out of Heaven for their misconduct, Boxer's been seeing more and more changes in him.  
That isn't to say anything of how Boxer had changed, too, and he wouldn't even know how—he would vehemently deny it if anyone brought it up, anyway.  
"Shit!" Boxer swore as the water came down ice-cold on his tired body, but he breathed a huge sigh of relief once it began to heat up. After a quick scrub and pat down, Boxer was out and more or less ready to start the day anew. There was just the matter of the dumb blonde occupying his bed still, who he observed in thought, toothbrush in mouth, and cup in hand. Boxer chewed his toothbrush pensively, taxing an already-overworked hamster wheeling around in his noggin, until, ding! Idea! With a self-satisfied smile, Boxer finished up and quietly slipped out of his room, half-dressed and prowling in search of Socks. "Yo, bro, you up?" Boxer called with a knock on his brother's bedroom door before he checked the kitchen downstairs.  
Socks threw himself in his work, presenting jiggly pudding on the good plates with cream and caramel, and a camera poised at the ready.  
"Bruh! Bruh, brutha, my bro, my man, bruh," Boxer nudged and aggravated with elongated syllables punctuated by each knee and elbow shoved in Socks' person. "Hey, look at me, dammit. I'm talking to you, you little bitch!"  
"What! What the fuck do you want?!" Socks, patience exhausted, turned sharply on Boxer with a glare as grim as Death itself.  
"Hostile much? Listen, I need you to do me a solid," Boxer clapped his hands together. "Super easy, won't even cost ya nuthin', c'mon."  
"What?" Socks said again, deadpanned.  
"So, bomb-ass chick, blonde, double-DDs, ass so fat, I got behind that, right? But, uh," Boxer rubbed his neck, sheepishly. "Ain't so hot right now when the booze wears off, you know?"  
"No, I don't know; get to the point, damn you," Socks growls.  
"Get rid of her for me? My head is killing me, and I don't wanna deal with the fallout, you know?"  
"Fuck you."  
"Don't be that way! Please? For me? You love me—I love me—me would be really sad if you didn't."  
"Fuck. You." Socks repeated, angling his phone, and adjusting the lighting of the shot to signal he was through with the conversation.  
"Yeah, I'll be fucked if you don't. So take care of it, I'm out," Boxer hurries along before Socks could give a proper response. "Love ya, man!"  
  
Boxer took the jeep and ordered himself a greasy breakfast sandwich to munch on. He parked on the side of the road along the cliff (a spot he frequented after discovering it days ago), overlooking the city away from the church, away from it all.  
How long has it been now? Couple weeks? Nearly a month? Boxer lost count. He leaned over the railing, sandwich in hand, his button-up undone and flapping about in the breeze. Smacking his lips, Boxer recalled his literal fall from grace alongside Socks. Heaven wasn't so unlike Earth, from what little Boxer had seen up to now. There were fewer angelic choirs and holier-than-thou assholes to lecture and annoy him. The landscape was duller, too. That he didn't mind so much—the cumulus and cobblestone, fountains of milk, wine, and honey reeked of pretentiousness.  
Never mind the perpetual circle-jerking.  
Still, if Boxer ever hoped to reenter the gates of Heaven with a clean slate, he would have to work for it through exorcism. It was the same for Socks, but neither of them were in that much of a hurry. There were certain luxuries only afforded in Heaven, so it was worth the effort to return—eventually. Polishing off the rest of his sandwich, Boxer drove back down to street level and cruised to clear his head, determined to make the best of the situation he was in somehow.

"S'up, bitches!" Boxer announced himself with an exclamation point, and a kick to the door.  
"Chuck!" Came the bark of their green, mutant dog of patchwork and a zipper lining his head and crotch.  
Chuck chucked himself at his owner, halted mid-flight with a fist to the face as Boxer rounded the corner to see Socks on the sofa in the TV room. "Socks! You look like shit on top of shit on top of a piss cake, what happened?" Boxer said with a hearty laugh.  
Socks glowered, biting hard on his spoon with no more pudding to sate him.  
"What? Did Blondie make a fuss when you threw her ass out?" Boxer sat down, intruding on Socks' space.  
"Predictably," Socks grumbled.  
"Aw, my bad," Boxer cooed as he tousled Socks' hair. He paused, examining its length and texture. "Huh."  
"Get off," Socks smacked Boxer's hand away.  
"I did," Boxer grinned.  
"Ew."  
"Ah, yeah, I thought about it, and I regret it," Boxer dry heaved. "Anyway, what's up with you? Any news from on high? Chuck looked a little singed when I came in. Then again, he probably pissed on the outlet again. Who you whoring yourself out for likes to on your blog? Any daring sexcapades of your own? Tell me something; I'm bored as shit!"  
"Read a book," Socks offered without an ounce of enthusiasm.  
"Nooo!" Boxer whines, slumping woefully in his seat. "Where Suspender at? I ain't seen her all day."  
"You want to see Suspender? Guess Hell finally froze over," Socks smirked for the first time today.  
"Fuck off, just, you know what? Nah, fuck, I dunno, I'm in a funk," Boxer finally admits. "I went out, and I had this revelation—thought I found my resolve, but the action? It ain't happening, and it needs to. I'm restless. Ain't shit to do down on Earth, and it's been months!"  
"Two weeks."  
"Two weeks! Thank you," Boxer scoffed. "Since when did we need to worry about time, bro? Two weeks, and not one solid coin from not one Ghost!"  
"Get a hobby—one besides screwing anything with boobs and a pulse," Socks glanced around for a second before fetching his cat doll, Hollow Kitty, to occupy his hands now that they were empty.  
"But that's the best one, though," Boxer snickers. "Do we really just wait until something pops up? Can't we just go out and find a Ghost lurking in the shadows to vanquish on our own? How do those prissy pinheaded pricks even know?" Boxer turned his gaze skyward contemptuously.  
"Eh, it's probably based on threat-level or something, the small fry don't give a fraction of a payout, let alone influence the city in any substantial way, so," Socks shrugged.  
For Boxer and Socks to return to Heaven, they would have to purchase their way with angelic currency. Ordinarily, there isn't a means of obtaining Heaven Coin on Earth, but Daten was unique in that it was built atop the fault between Heaven and Hell, nestled in the valley of a nondescript mountain range. Given its placement, the city is occasionally subjected to Ghosts terrorizing the citizens. Performing vigilante heroism on Heaven's behalf is where the angel siblings find themselves present day.  
It was a thankless and sometimes demeaning job.  
"Chuck!" Chuck barked once again, smearing gum and balls along the floorboards as he approached Boxer and Socks. The latter noticing that he did indeed seem charred today.  
"Hang on—" Socks began, but a kick to the door interrupted his train of thought as a large Black woman in robes entered with a deep scowl on her face.  
"Well, ain't you two comfy, sittin' on your candyasses while there's trouble afoot!" Shouted Suspender, Reverend Mother of Daten Church. She produced a sheet of paper from her voluminous Afro and presented it for the angels to see. "It says 'Cow Juice,' that means milk for the layman—Boxer—and I can only assume you both ransacked every Dairy Queen in the city yesterday for you to be this complacent."  
"I'm sure Socks had," Boxer nudged and grinned sidelong at him. "Caught him piggin' out on pudding, like the little sugar-slut he is."  
"Why you sugar-shaming me, man-ho?" Socks said, temper flaring.  
"I'm just saying; you might have more Devil in your food than you realize," Boxer shrugged.  
"I'd rather whore myself out to the Devil than put up with the shit you drag in half-past midnight," Socks spat in return.  
Boxer would have gotten another word in had Suspender not shut him down. "Shut up, and get the hell out my sight until you found some motherfucking clues!"  
  
Boxer finds himself back in Mink—the name he affectionately gave to his jungle-green jeep—younger brother riding passenger, sucking on a lollipop, and tapping away at his phone.  
"Where to first? It ain't like we got any solid leads," Boxer asked at the first red light.  
"We could hit up a Dairy Queen," Socks only emphasized his lack of interest with a swipe of the touchscreen. "If that doesn't work, we could start harassing farmers for kicks."  
"Not sure I want to go down that route—just the thought of smellin' alfalfa and manure is gonna make me hurl," Boxer feigned blowing chunks.  
"Dairy Queen it is, then," Socks responds cheerily.

Standing in the queue, Boxer groaned aloud from the unrelenting boredom. "Do we really have to be here, man?" Boxer mentioned his inclination to hurl at the thought of farm smell before, yet, the confectionery aromas wafting throughout the Dairy Queen came close to throwing him over the proverbial edge, too. "I can't stand sweet shit."  
"It ain't for you—" Socks began before catching himself. "We're here to investigate, anyway."  
"Yeah, you're investigating that menu real hard, bro," Boxer scoffed. "I'm gonna wait in the jeep."

As predicted, their search proved fruitless, so they returned empty-handed to the church.  
To their surprise, however, Suspender didn't seem too upset.  
"Shit, guess you were right about Hell freezing over," Boxer conceded as Socks switched from lollipop to soft-serve. "Hey, is it just me, or is that thing blue?" Boxer mumbled as he glanced at the cone.  
"I thought I'd try the newest item on the menu," Socks shrugged, savoring each lick.  
"You are just fellating the shit out of—" Boxer gawked in disgust but was stopped short by Suspender pointedly clearing her throat.  
Beside Suspender stood a stocky woman in a suit. The woman nervously straightened her tie, sweating bullets, and on her leg, Chuck humped vigorously.  
"This here's the principal of Daten High School," said Suspender. "She's come seeking the aid of our Holy Order, but since we're short on staff, I told her she'd have to make do with you two assholes."  
"Don't we already have enough on our plates?" Boxer whined.  
"Yeah, and how's that going for y'all?" Suspender grimaced as Socks scarfed down the rest of his waffle cone. "Mhm, I had the utmost faith that you'd fuck up on yo' own, and you sho' delivered."  
"Well, what did you expect us to do with only a keyword and no direction?" Boxer yelled, growing increasingly frustrated.  
"Go ahead and say your piece, ma'am," Suspender deliberately ignored Boxer in favor of letting the principal speak.  
"R, right, so lately, our school has had to deal with some unusual, unfathomable, unimaginable, unprecedented, unnatural phenomena, and it's left our staff and student body in a state of unrest!"  
"Uhhh-huh, anymore 'un's you want to cram in there, Missy?" Boxer asked, unamused.  
"Hush up before I unscrew yo' stupid head off yo' shoulders!" Suspender swiftly shut Boxer's smart mouth up as the principal continued.  
"We have reason to believe the culprit is of supernatural origin! As such, I came to the church to pray, and I was told you two could help us!"  
"And you're sure we're dealing with the supernatural?" Socks said once he wiped his hands clean with a napkin from his jacket pocket.  
"Unmistakably!"  
"Shoot me," Boxer said, exasperated.  
"I just might," said Suspender, tapping her foot. "Regardless, this is the best lead we got so far—the best lead I got for you. One of these days, y'all gon' hafta do this on your own, though I'm sure Hell would have froze for real by then." Suspender pinched her brow wearily.  
"Mm, yeah, so high school?" Boxer scratches the side of his face, thoughtfully. "Sure, why not?"  
"All out of fuss, Boxer? I can't help but think you have ulterior motives," Socks mused.  
"What, me? Nah," Boxer grinned. "I'm just ready to get in on the action already!"  
"Right," Socks shook his head.

What Socks would give for another cone right now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to Knickers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give Briefs' female counterpart a more active role in the long run.

2

Daten High was an esteemed institution providing upper secondary education to its students.  
Knickers was a mousy, red-haired senior, non-athletic, with hobbies and borderline fixations often considered “geeky” by her peers. She sat at the back of her homeroom class, laptop open on her personalized desk space. Knickers was granted special permission for this, though said permit might have been redundant as her classmates rarely followed any rule mandated by the school. For example, there was a uniform unique to Daten High, but hardly anyone wore it—Knickers included. There had been one classmate of Knickers’ that happened to be a stickler for rules, though—her own to be precise.  
Peaches smacked the flat of Knickers’ desk to snap her out of her stupor; stunned erect, Knickers addressed her stammeringly. With a sneer, Peaches held up a can of strawberry milk. “This is empty.”  
“...Yes?” Knickers stared blankly at her behind a curtain of kinky curls.  
“Be a dear and buy me another one?” Peaches said simperingly, though her expression was sharp and demanding.  
“Yes, ma’am,” Knickers stifled a defeated sigh, then squeaked when Peaches tapped the can to her forehead. “Y-Yes!”  
“Dispose of this for me, too, won’t you, dear? Thank you!” Peaches handed it off and left Knickers to her demeaning errands.

Knickers stood in front of the vending machine during lunch period, blanking yet again. She already tossed the can. Now she couldn’t remember what flavor Peaches preferred—and she certainly didn’t want to risk going with the obvious answer (a can of peaches and cream milk drink staring tauntingly back at her) and being wrong anyway. So there the poor girl stood, finger raised to press a button but stilled by the grip of indecision. It was another minute until the stale air filled with tension through the convenience of property damage.  
A jeep burst through the wall of the cafeteria Knickers occupied, narrowly missing her as she wailed in justified panic. Her voice joined a cacophony of screams of terror and awe, as two beautiful specimens of the male sex exited the jeep and stood before the student body.  
“Subtlety is a foreign language to you, isn't it, Boxer?” Said the glowering one in short shorts.  
“Never heard of the ho,” Said the cheeky blond one.  
Knickers stood knock-kneed and petrified, gawking at the newcomers clad in the standard uniform, but appearing well in their twenties—gaping at the blond one, specifically; heart throbbing with infatuation.  
“You trying to catch flies with that mouth?” Boxer asserted, invading Knickers' personal space. “Well? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”  
“U-um, I, well—y, you see—!” Knickers tried to form a response and failed miserably.  
“Excuse me!” Said a voice commanding attention—the exact opposite of Knickers' general disposition. “Who do you think is going to pay for that?!” Peaches came into view with a menacing entourage just behind her.  
“Somebody,” Boxer shrugged. “Not that it matters—we got important business here, girlie, so—ow, ow, ow!”  
Socks pinched and yanked on Boxer's ear to keep him from talking too much. “Terribly sorry for him; he was dropped one too many times as a kid.”  
Peaches raised an eyebrow—immaculately plucked and dyed platinum blonde, “I don't know just who you think you are, but this here? This is my territory, and if you plan on staying, you must be willing to abide by my rule. Are we clear?” Peaches crossed her arms expectantly.  
Socks responded through clenched teeth, “Certainly.”  
“The fuck are you doing, bending over for this basic-ass—ow, dammit!” Boxer began to speak, but was rudely interrupted by the sting of having his ear pulled.  
“Keep that one on a tight leash, and we won't have any problems,” Peaches lowered her arms, then points accusingly at Knickers. “It's been a full five minutes since I sent you away, and still, my hand remains empty!”  
“R-right! Right away, ma'am,” Knickers went to fulfill Peaches' request, only to be stumped and daunted by buttons as she had been, originally.  
“Oh, can't you do anything right, you useless little girl!?” Peaches, her patience exhausted, shoved Knickers aside after nicking a dollar to pay for a fresh can of milk.

Boxer, Socks, and Knickers watch as Peaches and her posse left with an arrogant saunter.

“Yo, Socks, what's it called when a chick is pussywhipped?” Boxer nudged his brother in the arm.  
“Oh, let me think, it's when a certain jackass needs to keep his mouth closed,” Socks snapped then went to see to Knickers. “So, are you usually this pitiful, or is this a special occasion?”  
Socks made an honest attempt to encourage Knickers, but it happened that he lacked as much tact as his brother. He stood there confounded as Knickers shrunk back from him, instead of firing back with some smart-alec remark.  
“It's always been this way—but it's fine!” Knickers mumbled. “Um, but more importantly, who are you?”  
“We're Angels—” Boxer croaked when Socks elbowed him in the gut and doubled over.  
“We're investigating suspicious activity reported by the principal while undercover,” Socks corrected.  
“Oh? You're not doing a really good job of being undercover,” Knickers stated flatly. “Oh! But, did you mean those phenomena that are clearly supernatural!?” A spark alighted and twinkled in Knickers' eye in an instant (too bad her bangs obscured it).  
“Uh, yeah?” Boxer and Socks said in near unison, exchanging a puzzled look.  
“Me and my crew are all over that! If you're serious about this and need anything regarding everything ectoplasmic and weird, I'm your girl!” Knickers puffed out her chest in confidence. “Come on! I'll lead you to our headquarters!” Taking the initiative—something she sorely lacked when Peaches was present—she grabbed Socks' hand and yanked him along, with a bewildered Boxer lagging behind.  
  
Knickers clicked on the light of a janitorial closet once she got the angel brothers cramped in at a table set up for her and a couple of classmates of similar persuasion. “Welcome, my fellow huntspeople to the Acquisition of Specters and Spooks Committee!” Knickers announced, spreading her arms to show until she knocked a bottle of cleaner down from its shelf on accident. “Oops!”  
“The 'ASS Committee'?” Boxer blinked, huddled miserably at the table with Knickers' gang of geeks.  
“We're working on that,” Said a boy with a mop of pasty green hair. “Name's Page, by the way. I handle all the technical stuff.”  
“Well, it's not like we want to hurt the ghosts when we catch them!” Knickers whined in defense of the title. “We just want to study them, you know?”  
“And—while I'm hesitant to ask for fear of a loss in sanity—how exactly are you going about acquiring these 'specters and spooks'?” Socks inquired while nervously petting Hollow Kitty's head.  
“Page, Mint, if you will!” Knickers gave the floor to the two green-haired members of her team as they unveiled an odd metal backpack that looked wholly as if it belonged in a landfill. Or perhaps, that's precisely where they procured it? “This is our state-of-the-art, fan rendition of the Proton Pack! It's not fully operational just yet, but once it is, we'll be on our way to ghost hunting full-time!”  
“Part-time,” Page interjects.  
“Part-time, right,” Knickers corrected herself.  
“...I think I've seen enough,” Socks stood abruptly.  
“Yeah, me, too—ow!” Boxer exclaimed as he banged his head on the light. “See ya, losers.”  
“But, but wait! Wait!” Knickers cried as Socks and Boxer left the closet without her.  
“Hey, hey, Socks,” Boxer snickers while prodding his brother in the arm. “Socks—Socks! You finally decided to come out of the—OW! Fuck!”

Boxer crouched on the floor, holding his bleeding nose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to make this chapter a touch longer, but I decided against it.

3

The angelic siblings were expected to adhere to the school standard and attend classes like any ordinary student. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion or draw any unnecessary attention to themselves as angels incognito, yet, their manner of speech, conduct, and otherworldly glow garnered gaping looks and drooling mouths as they progressed through the halls beside each other. Boxer, especially, is generally mouthy and uncouth, though he curbs his lust to avoid robbing any cradles. Socks, meanwhile, chewed his thumbnail in deep thought as he leafed through textbooks which detailed subjects he hadn’t needed to study in Heaven.   
Boxer leaned over his brother’s shoulder—forgetting for the umpteenth time that they were meant to remain inconspicuous. “You understand any of this shit?” he asked.  
“Hm, maybe if I had the peace to concentrate, I might actually get somewhere?” Socks groaned.  
“Why would you want to?” Boxer raised an eyebrow, puzzled.  
“I don’t know, perhaps I find these silly human books interesting? Perhaps reading up on a subject or two could benefit me while I’m trapped on Earth? Maybe, just maybe, I’m trying to find a valuable piece of information that could aid us in our quest to fucking exercise a Ghost plaguing the school?” Socks snapped, illustrating his point by gesturing to the cover of the book in his hand.  
Given that their only solid clue was the text, “Cow Juice,” Socks thought he might research cows and the dairy industry while in the library.   
“And how the hell long do you think that’ll take you? How the hell long do we even got to purge the Ghost?” Boxer said through clenched teeth, his face pinched in anger.  
“I don’t know—I don’t goddamn know,” Socks slammed his hands on the desk, discarding the book to turn and yell at his brother, garnering the looks he tried to avoid. “We’re on our own, Boxer! We were thrown out like trash—we fucked up, and now we have to pay for it. Literally! And the only way to do that is to destroy whatever target we’re assigned before it threatens the populace!”  
Boxer leaned back as Socks got in his face to bark obscenities, but held his look of defiance.   
“Piss off; don’t you think I know that already?” Boxer grumbled after a moment of tensed silence. “I just—you know what? Fuck it. Forget it. I’m out.”  
“Wait. What do you mean?” Socks stared disbelieving at Boxer’s departing figure.  
“I’m doing this my way,” Boxer responded over his shoulder. “You keep your prissy little nose stuck in them books while I go out and actually do somethin’ about our Ghost, got it?”  
“You have no leads—no direction; how do you expect—?” Boxer slamming the door shut interrupts Socks’ train of thought. “Dammit!” Socks swore and sat back down at the table.

  
It had been a rough couple of weeks since Boxer and Socks Anarchy fell from grace, confined on Earth to atone for the innumerable sins they committed. Regarded as paragons of a wrathful lust, Boxer and Socks seethed, disgraced and bitter toward their betters. Boxer struck the wall beside him and shook in frustration. In doing this, Boxer startled his fellow acting classmate in Knickers, who stood just behind him. He stared wide-eyed at her, head still fogged with anger. Boxer could hear Knickers stuttering something, but he could hardly register a word.  
“Whatever,” Boxer said at length and turned to continue walking and focus on his task.  
Then it struck him: Knickers could honestly be useful right now.  
“Boxer, wasn’t it?” Knickers said cautiously.   
“Yeah?” Boxer glanced at her in mild intrigue.   
The gears were turning, slowly but surely, as Boxer looked her over.  
“I just wanted to tell you that we detected an unprecedented amount of spectral energy!” Knickers puffed up with pride. “You _are_ still looking for that ghost, right?”  
“Yeah,” Boxer turned to face her full on. “What do you mean you ‘detected spectral energy’?”  
“The proton pack is equipped with a sensor tuned to the supernatural wavelength! Theoretically—” Knickers began with a tangential spiel on the mechanics of her and her friends’ jerry-built creation.  
“...Run that back one more time?” Boxer blanked mid-way through.  
“Uh, we found a ghost trail outside of the girls’ bathroom a few halls back down here,” Knickers pointed in the way she came. “The ectoplasm is dripping from the ventilation ducts. Since you guys are angels, we figured we should inform you before proceeding with our acquisition—you’re like professionals, right? So you could tell us how we can go about acquiring spectral data properly! This is our first gig, after all.” Knickers smiled and rubbed her neck bashfully.  
“...One more time?”   
“Just come with me!” Knickers grabbed Boxer by the wrist to spirit him down the hall.

  
Socks toiled on in the library until the bell rang to signal the next period—that being P.E. if he recalled correctly. He closed the book with a sigh and returned it to its shelf while sorting the information he’d gathered thus far, and ignoring the hushed murmurs about him. Socks walked at a slow pace to the gymnasium, with a furrowed brow, and a fingernail between his teeth in thought. Weary of his brother’s nonsense, but feeling his absence, Socks dragged his feet, and students passed by without him—all but three—one he would recognize as she snapped her fingers at him to get his attention.  
“You seemed more put-together than your counterpart, don’t tell me I’m mistaken!” Peaches huffed, nostrils flared, and chin raised with a haughty sneer. “Come along now; Socks, was it?”  
“Yes, that’s right,” Socks said automatically, then registered her command. “You have Gym, then?”  
“That’s correct,” Peaches struts the rest of the way, presenting the gymnasium as her underlings open the doors. “This is _my_ domain—you will find that I excel at sport. Won’t you join me for some friendly competition?”  
“As you like,” Socks allowed himself a confident smirk.  
Looking Peaches over, Socks could tell she had some strength. While short, she was sturdy and seemed as if she could topple a mountain if she wished. Her method was assertive— _dominating_ , even, once the whistle blew and dodge balls flew on either side. What Socks noted, in particular, was how Peaches commanded student and staff alike, which was assuredly unusual from what he knew of mortal schools. He simmered with emotion and exertion before long, as Peaches ran his entire team ragged, but Socks kept up the fancy footwork until soon he and Peaches were the only two standing opposed.   
Students gaped on the sidelines, leaning on the edge of their seats if they could, though some were sore and too humiliated to care. Peaches’ thudding footfalls were a distraction to most, and an indicator to someone like Socks—her stance was strong, and her delivery of ball artillery was bruisingly so. Socks would do well to match her step, and he does until he faltered. He made one fatal mistake, and that was splitting his attention between Peaches and the stands as Daten's students began cheering him on. Apparently, Peaches was undefeated in just about every field, so seeing anyone rival her in skill was nothing short of amazing, but the elation was short-lived as Socks fell to a ball to his shoulder.  
“Fff—!” Socks nearly swore. That hurt!   
How did that _hurt_?!  
“Phew, commendable effort!” Peaches applauded him, and her applause resounded as the others joined in. “I pegged you for nothing but a pretty face, but I must say, you _are_ capable. Perhaps you’d like to join me after school on an outing?”  
“I...” Socks bit back what was beginning to be a harsh rejection, but then he considers her offer and concludes that it could be the opportunity he was looking for after all. “I’d be delighted, Ms. Peaches.”   
They shook hands, and that was that.

  
Page, and his twin, Mint, huddled over a puddle of some black, gelatinous substance with their equipment poised above and around it. Knickers approached them with Boxer in tow, and they greet her with barely-suppressed excitement.   
“Any new developments, boys?” Knickers bent down to ask and inspect the puddle.   
“Its an undulant, pliant mass—it’s almost doughy in its consistency,” Mint observed.   
“This idiot touched it with his bare hand,” Page snickers.   
“It washed off!” Mint asserts, offended.  
“Don’t be stupid, Mint,” said Knickers. “We’re dealing with the undocumented! Who knows how real ectoplasm reacts to the human body? What if you go transparent!?”  
“Uh, so,” Boxer intruded, sighing with a hand in his pocket. “Y’all know where this shit came from?”  
“Like I said, the drip seemed to originate from the duct in the girls' bathroom,” Knickers confirmed, then pointed. “It’s seeping out from under the door.”  
“Yeah, I can see that,” Boxer walked passed them and barged right in.  
While the geek trio stood appalled, the bathroom proved empty—possibly due to the ghastly substance pervading it. Boxer looked up and saw how a thick wad of the stuff was dripping down from the ventilation system. “Where does that go?” Boxer asked without looking away from the duct.  
“As you know, air circulates throughout the whole campus,” Page replied. “It can lead anywhere if you follow it. But, you’re not going to go sifting through that muck, are you?” Page shuddered at the mere thought.  
“Why not?” Boxer said and attempted to remove his boxers without a second thought.  
“Whoa!” Mint and Page said in unison and moved to stop him.  
Meanwhile, Knickers stood gawking at the implication, face hot and colored bright red.  
“What!? Oh,” Boxer scoffs. “Guess I’m doing this with a little less style, then.”  
Boxer leaped and punched the grating of the duct in, making an entrance into the ventilation shaft. Immediately, he’s drenched in ectoplasmic slop and crying out in disgust. Page and Mint jumped back, scarcely getting away ungooped.   
“I don’t know what you expected to happen!” Page shouted once the downpour subsided. “Wait, hold on...”  
“This is fresh,” Mint said while he and his brother kneeled in for a closer look.  
The ectoplasm just outside the bathroom was congealed, but it rained fresh and watery from the duct.   
“If I were to liken it to anything, I’d say curdled milk,” Page said, while Mint spoke at the same time, but only said, “milk!” “Well, yes, this stuff _is_ like milk right out of the carton.”  
“Provided it isn’t years past expiration,” Mint giggled.  
Boxer groaned as the boys talked over him. It was Knickers that went over to aid him, finally.  
“You all right, Boxer?” Knickers asked, futilely wiping off the gunk with the bathroom’s paper towels.  
“Yeah, yeah,” Boxer _did_ appreciate the sentiment to some degree, but stayed her hand and wiped the rest off his face with his own. “I hate to admit, but this shit seems big, and I might actually need Socks’ help after all.” 

Boxer spat spitefully into the pool of ectoplasm, wondering how he ought to proceed with this new revelation.


End file.
